Saving Marilee

by Annette K. Larsen

  Darkness muddied the edges of my vision as the tiny bit of light James had brought into my life blinked out. I was just another of Damian's messes that James was happy to clean up and use himself.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and trudged back to the house. I went straight to the kitchen and found Emeline. The moment she saw me, she pulled a pie from the cupboard and cut a slice for me.

  I smiled as she handed me a fork. "If you are this good at anticipating someone's needs when you are only thirteen, I have no doubt you will be handily running a kitchen in no time at all. If word gets out, every household in the country will be wanting to steal you away from me." I stuck a forkful of her decadent creation in my mouth.

  She blushed and shook her head. "I don't want to run things."

  "Then I'll be happy to keep you all to myself." She seemed to relax at my words. "Now cut a slice for yourself and sit with me."

  Her movements were shy as she did what I asked, knowing that I would insist. She sat down, but hesitated to take a bite. I waited, wondering if she would say something. Finally she sighed. "Will you hire more staff?"

  "Would you like me to?"

  She shrugged. "I like that it's just us."

  "Me too." I dipped my finger in the berry filling and dabbed it on her nose. "Now eat up."

  She giggled and a little burst of triumph filled my chest.

  ***

  The next morning, I sat in the front windowsill, looking down the lane and not waiting for Mr. Sutton. After my outburst, he probably wouldn't come; and I did not want him to come. I wanted nothing to do with a man who had grown up right along with my husband, rivals who fought over the same thing.

  Yet there I sat, unable to pull myself away. Perhaps I just missed the company he offered. It was difficult to know my feelings lately. I didn't trust them. And I couldn't let myself trust him.

  I sighed, closing my eyes and letting my forehead thump against the window. After a night of contemplation, my only conclusion was that I didn't know what to think. I liked to fancy that I had mistaken his meaning, but then I chastised myself for that hope. Allowing Mr. Sutton into my life would give him the power to hurt me, and that was unacceptable.

  My eyes flew open when a knock sounded at the door. I pressed my face to the window, but the angle was such that I couldn't see the front door. Of course I had missed his approach. The staccato beat of Beatrice crossing the entry met my ears and I stopped breathing until she greeted the guest and I heard the murmur of his reply. Then the footsteps moved toward me.

  I slid down from my perch on the windowsill and managed to catch my foot in the hem of my dress and tumble to the floor. Freeing my foot, I had only just gained my feet and was still straightening my dress when he entered.

  His eyes lit up, which set my cheeks aflame as I pushed my hair from my face and sank into a curtsey. "Good day, Mr. Sutton."

  "Highness."

  I should have asked him to sit, but his assertion that my transformation had been good for me still rang in my ears. He finally took my silence as his cue to speak.

  "I've come to," he cleared his throat. "To inquire about the horses."

  "I beg your pardon?" I had been torturing myself trying to discover his character since yesterday, and this was the greeting he gave?

  "You mentioned yesterday that you need to make new arrangements for your horses. I've just met with my good friend, Charles, and he is very interested in acquiring a new mare."

  My jaw tightened. "Horses?" This was to be the subject discussed? "You wish to speak of horses?"

  He raised his brow, rocking back a step. "Perhaps a different time would suit you better?"

  "No, indeed. Do speak to me of the horses you wish to take; I'm certain nothing else need be said."

  "You are angry with me," he stated.

  "How many horses would you like? Just the one mare for your friend?"

  He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "I only spoke of horses to bring up a neutral subject, but I see now that was a mistake on my part. Perhaps you could advise me on what I might do to mend our friendship?"

  "In agreeing to be your friend, I may have been too hasty." I tried to say it without emotion, but my voice shook.

  "Please tell me what I've done. Clearly I have done you a great harm, but I do not know what that is."

  "Your ignorance on the matter only reaffirms my decision."

  "Curse it, Marilee. Tell me my crime that I might answer to it."

  I kept silent. If I told him, would he really have an answer for me—one that would restore our friendship? Had I misunderstood?

  He let out a sigh and fixed me with his gaze. "Very well. If you will not tell me, then I have to guess that your ire stems from the conversation we were having when you rode away so abruptly." He looked at a spot on the carpet as he tried to recount the discussion. "We were talking of the person you were and the person you had become. You claimed to be selfish, vain and ridiculous. Those are attributes that I have not seen in you. You have clearly grown and changed." His brow furrowed a moment before he looked up at me. "When I said I believed you had become better, I didn't mean that Damian had made you better. I meant that your strength, the way you handled it all..." He pulled a hand down his face, squeezing his eyes as he ordered his thoughts. "What I did not mean to imply was that all men would want what Damian wanted."

  My lip quivered.

  "Is that what you thought I meant? That all men want quiet, obedient wives?"

  I clenched my jaw, but the trembling in my chin continued.

  His eyes softened and filled with sadness. "We are not all Damian."

  My breath hitched, but I refused to soften. "I did not say anything about wanting to be a wife again."

  He threw up his hands. "Friend, then! I have no use for a quiet, obedient friend, because such would not be a friend at all."

  My thoughts and emotions tumbled and swirled, making my whole body tremble. I fought for strength, determined to stand my ground, but my foolish heart wanted nothing but to believe him. "You suggested that the person I am now is better than who I was before, but I liked the person I was before. It isn't just my vanity and shallow nature that he stamped out of me." I steadied my nerves, determined to say the words, though my throat was choked with emotion. "I was vivacious! I was ebullient and brave."

  "And you believe he stole that from you as well?"

  "What do you think? He stripped me of life and color until I was dull and shapeless."

  He took a step toward me, but I retreated. Maintaining distance was second nature. He didn't move any closer, but held my gaze, his face intent. "You are anything but dull."

  "How do you know? You never knew me when I was myself. All you've ever known is this shadow I've become."

  "I know because the first time I met you, you barged into your drawing room, spread your arms wide and demanded to know if I was here to see the mad widow. Because even before we met, I saw you douse a pile of furniture with liquor and burn it to ashes. I've no doubt that the scars you carry are deep, but I have seen glimpses of color. I've seen hints of a smile so stunning that it nearly knocked me over. Those traits that you cherish are still there, and I've no doubt that you will unearth them."

  My smile nearly knocked him over? What did that mean?

  "And as for bravery," he continued, his soft eyes resting on my face. "I've never met anyone braver than you."

  I blinked furiously, but the tears slipped past my lashes. I didn't brush them away; that would have felt like surrender. Instead I stood my ground, daring James to pity me.

  He held my gaze, never flinching at my tears, never making a move to comfort me, or wipe them away. He was a smart man. And after three heartbeats, when the space between us was humming with energy, he spoke, his voice clear and strong. "Any woman who can endure what you have and stand before me as you do now, can be nothing other than brave."

  He let his words sit in the silence for just a moment, then bowed a goo
dbye and left the room.

  I sank into a chair, my body trembling, my hands clenching and flexing. Was he right? Was I brave? This didn't feel like bravery. It felt like pieces of me were scattered in the wind and I was just doing my best to snatch them from the air before they were lost. And even if I succeeded, I would still be left with nothing but crumpled pieces in my hands.

  He was wrong. I wasn't brave. I had given up on bravery the night I had tried to leave.

  ***

  I'd had enough. Since pilfering the letter from Lylin, I had felt more each day that this life I lived was wrong. I had run out of excuses for Damian. There was no logic, no reason, no shortcoming on my part. There was nothing to justify his actions, nothing I could do to make it better. I was leaving. I would crawl back to my family, admit defeat, and hope that they believed the tale I would have to tell. Surely they would. Wouldn't they?

  Lylin had advised me not to let Damian trample me. Well, this was the only way I knew to do that.

  I pulled my hood closer to my face, hiding inside it, hoping the shadows would shelter me from watchful eyes. I wished I could take a horse, but a guard always watched the stables. Walking was my only option, and I wouldn't get far that way. It was essential that I find the nearest house and throw myself on their mercy. It was a dangerous prospect. For all I knew, every person in the neighborhood believed the lies that Damian told of my mental deficiencies. Nevertheless, the attempt had to be made, and so I pulled myself away from the outer wall of my husband's home and dashed into the night.

  I was nearing the edge of Bridgefield land when hoofbeats thundered at my back. I pushed my legs to go faster, my breath wheezing, but the horses were swift and relentless. I was overtaken by three guards, and though I tried to dodge and maneuver around them, one simply slid from his horse and caged me in his arms. I cried out in despair and fought to break free, but it was like pushing against a mountain—pointless. I forced myself to be still and quiet as they put me on a horse and returned me to my husband. I could claim that I had only stepped out for a breath of air and become disoriented, or that I'd awoken to a frightening sound and ran without thinking.

  Perhaps I would have said those things. But Damian never asked for an explanation. I was escorted to his study where he slouched in a chair, the firelight turning his face into hard angles and sharp edges. His arm dangled over the side, a goblet cradled in his fingers, the blood red hue of his wine glinting in the light.

  "You can go," he said without looking up, and the guards stepped out, closing the door with a finality that made ice settle over my heart. Damian rolled his head until he faced me. "Going somewhere?"

  "I—"

  He surged to his feet, dropping the goblet from one hand as he raised his sword with the other.

  A cry wrenched from my throat as I fell back, clinging to the wall.

  "Is this what I am to expect from my wife? Is this what I have come to deserve? I do everything for you. Everything! And in return you slink into the night like a common thief? What more can I do, Mary?"

  I tried to muffle the cries that ripped from my throat. If he would only let me leave, just let me return to my room.

  He didn't advance. His feet remained planted, his grip on the sword sure and steady. "You may be willing to give up on our marriage, but I am not. I have never been one to yield, so it's time for you to step up and do your part!" He jabbed the sword in my direction and I crumpled further, shielding my head with my arms. I listened to him rail at me about devotion and responsibility and honor. Until he finally tossed the sword aside and stormed out.

  I collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, numb with fear, and stayed there with my cheek pressed to the cold stone until one of the guards picked me up and carried me to my room.

  The next day, I didn't speak and could barely move.

  Chapter Eight

  JAMES BELIEVED I could be brave, that I already was. I couldn't believe that, not yet; but I wanted it to be true. So, two days later, I left the house and instead of heading toward the garden, I set off across the back lawn, toward the line of trees that bordered the edge. I crossed it and encountered a field of wheat spanning the space between the line of trees and the dense woods that sprawled over the rest of the property.

  The sun glinted off the stalks, turning them into yellow flames dancing in the breeze. My dress was nearly the same color, though I had a sage green bodice and arm bands over the yellow. I probably looked like I belonged in this field—a harvest fairy, or wheat fairy, or some such nonsense. I gave in to my sillier inclinations and broke off a few wheat heads, tucking them into the coil of braids at the back of my head.

  I reached the center of the field and turned slowly, taking in the view of house and hills and trees bordering the sea of gold. The sky was a brilliant clear blue and I craned my neck to take it all in.

  When my neck tired, I crossed the remainder of the field and entered the woods. There was a sense of security in the bright sunlight, but as I entered the shade of the trees, it too had a reassuring affect on me. Where sunlight could be harsh in its brightness, the shade held a softness that caressed my skin, encouraging calm.

  Continuing deeper, I found a stream. Strange that I had never realized a stream ran through my own property.

  I walked alongside it for some time, fascinated by the way that some of the trees grew right out of the water as if they had claimed their spot long before the stream came along. However, my favorite spot was a portion of the stream that had forked into two before merging together again, leaving a tiny island in the middle. A lone tree grew on the island, standing sentinel against any would-be invaders.

  Today that sentinel would have to contend with me. I lifted my skirts and didn't let myself think too long before jumping the stream. I grabbed hold of the tree when I landed on the island, which was perhaps two paces wide and five paces long. I folded my legs under me and spread out my skirts.

  Tipping my head back, I smiled up at the branches over my head and couldn't resist declaring, "I hereby claim this island on behalf of the wheat fairies."

  The leaves rustled in response, likely laughing at me, but I just leaned against the trunk and looked over my kingdom.

  How grateful I was to not be an actual ruler of anything.

  I had never been so entirely alone before. Nothing but the sounds of trees and an occasional bird invaded my solitude. I was so used to the echoing sounds of heavy doors and muted footsteps. I always enjoyed escaping for a walk in my garden, but that hardly compared to this. Here I could be a fairy queen and no one could call me naive or adorable.

  I was happily ensconced in my own world when the sounds of stream and trees were interrupted. I heard movement in the trees behind me. My eyes snapped open and I rolled up onto my knees, searching between trunks and leaves until I spotted a horse. A horse with a rider who was much too close.

  Panicking, I scrambled to my feet and leaped from the island, only to get my foot caught in my dress. I missed the bank and instead tumbled into the stream. Fortunately it was shallow and I was able to pull myself out. I stumbled into the grass and yanked up my skirts so that I could run. My entire back and most of my skirt were soaked, and the wet fabric snapped as I ran. I knew that running didn't make sense. In all likelihood the rider did not mean me harm. And even if they did, I could not outrun a horse. My head understood that, but my heart was terrified of the unknown, of being caught by myself, vulnerable and at a complete disadvantage.

  So much for bravery.

  I kept running, relieved that there were no sounds of pursuit behind me. I should have been close to the field now, if I was going the right direction, except that I had followed the stream for a ways before finding the fork, so perhaps I wasn't going the right way at all.

  I stopped behind a wide tree, my chest aching and needing to catch my breath. My breathing was just starting to quiet when the steady sound of hooves reached my ears. The panic came back, but I couldn't run anymore. I was stuck waitin
g behind a tree as the hooves advanced at half the tempo of my heart.

  Then they stopped. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, then I had to move. I couldn't keep standing there, waiting for the unknown to show itself. I leaned around the tree and spotted the horse standing among the ferns, its tail swishing, not worried in the least. But the rider was gone. There had been a rider, hadn't there? I had seen him. Or had I imagined it? No, the horse was saddled; there had to be a rider. I pulled back behind the tree, then jumped at the sound of my name. I screamed and spun to see James a few paces off, looking perplexed. I pushed a hand into my startled heart and leaned back against the tree, numb with relief.

  I didn't say anything, mostly because my panic was still in control. My eyes were fixed on him, reassuring myself that it was only James.

  He stared back, his eyes darkening in concern. "My apologies, Princess."

  I swallowed down a portion of my fear. "What are you doing here?"

  He looked me up and down as I clung to the tree, starting to shiver. He stripped off his coat. "You're cold."

  He started to close the distance between us and I stepped away, stumbling a bit as a burning flared in my ankle.

  "Are you injured?"

  I shook my head. "I'm fine. I was just returning to the house." I turned and started walking, unsure whether it was humiliation or fear that drove me away from him. I ignored what I assumed was a cut on my ankle and trudged forward.

  "Marilee?" he called from behind me.

  "What?" I asked without stopping.

  "You're going the wrong way."

  I stopped and turned, my eyes darting about, trying to reorient myself as I tried to calm my harried breathing. "You made me lose my way."

  "Why did you run?"

  "Why are you wondering on my property? I thought I was safe—alone."

  He fell back a step. "You're afraid of me?"